What You Don't Know
by Emjen Enla
Summary: [Complete]…will probably come back and get you at some point. Or an AU where Philip and Barron are trying to protect Cassel not use him, because that's all I wanted from this book. Written without reading Red Glove and Black Heart.


**Title: What You Don't Know…**

 **Author: Emjen Enla (Fanfiction)/emjen_enla (Wattpad)/emjenenla (Tumblr)**

 **Teaser: …will probably come back and get you at some point. Or an AU where Philip and Barron are trying to protect Cassel not use him, because that's all I wanted from this book. Written without reading** _ **Red Glove**_ **and** _ **Black Heart**_ **.**

 **Rating: PG-13/T**

 **Canon/Timeline: AU, probably set earlier than** _ **White Cat**_ **is in mainstream canon**

 **Dominant Characters: Philip Sharpe, Barron Sharpe, Cassel Sharpe, Anton Zacharov, mentions of various other characters**

 **Pairings: Philip/Maura, perhaps VERY subtle undertones of Cassel/Lila if you squint**

 **Warnings: some violence; pretty much everyone is intentionally OOC because this AU wouldn't work if they were all in character**

 **Notes:**

 **-Two questions: 1. Does anyone remember what the name of Philip and Maura's son is? 2. What kind of worker is Anton?**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own** _ **White Cat**_ **by Holly Black or Advil.**

* * *

"Excuse me," the teenage boy said to the guard. "Is this the way to the bathroom?"

Philip Sharpe peaked around a corner to get a better look. His younger brother, Cassel, stood before the guard, his posture rumpled and anxious, his gloved hands picking at his sleeves. He was almost unrecognizable, and Philip couldn't help but be impressed. Since Cassel wasn't a worker, it was too easy to write him off as useless, but Cassel was one of the best con-artists Philip had ever met. It was almost terrifying.

"How did you get back here, kid?" the guard asked. "This is a restricted area."

"He's going to blow it," Anton Zacharov grumbled from behind Philip. "We should have had Barron do this part. He's the luck worker."

"Cassel can do it just fine," Barron spoke up from the back of the group.

"I'm looking for the bathroom," Cassel was saying to the guard. There was a touch of a childish whine in his voice that didn't sound anything like Philip's brother. The kid was an amazing actor. "My stomach doesn't feel good. I must have eaten something bad." He wrapped his arms around his middle and hunched over, looking decidedly pathetic.

"Oh," the guard said eyes darting around nervously. He cared more about not having to clean up vomit than the rules, just as Cassel had said he would. There was a reason they'd picked this particular guard. "Well, there's a men's room this way. Come on." His arms twitched like he was considering put a hand on Cassel's back to guide him and then stopped for fear that Cassel had the stomach flu or something.

The guard lead Cassel down the hall. Philip watched as they stepped into one of the poorly designed hall's many security camera blind spots. The instant they were out of sight of the cameras, Cassel straightened up and lunged at the guard, slamming him into the door of a janitor's closet and holding him in place with a forearm across the throat.

Philip was moving instantly. He darted down the hall, sticking to the blind spots and reached Cassel and the guard. The guard's eyes got big when he saw Philip's fake guard uniform. Philip grinned at him in a very specific, creepy "worker-ish" way he'd learned from Mom and pressed an index finger against the guard's cheek. He felt skin through the slit he'd cut in the fingertips of his gloves and sent a pulse through the man's nervous system that overloaded it and dropped him into instant unconsciousness.

Cassel stepped back and let the guard drop to the floor. "How long will he be out?" he asked.

"Two hours, maybe three," Philip knelt down next to the guard and began removing his security clearance card, ID and keys from the various loops and pockets of the uniform. "Depends on a number of factors: age, health, family history. Plus, some people are just more resilient than others."

Cassel shook his head. "Just asked for a number, Philip; didn't need the lesson."

Philip couldn't keep from smiling. "Whatever."

He and Cassel quickly tied the man up and stuffed him into the janitor's closet. They made their way back to Anton and Barron by way of the blind spots. Then Cassel stripped off the hoodie and sweatpants he'd been wearing to reveal the guard's uniform underneath. They stuffed his old clothes into the small backpack Barron was carrying. Now all three Sharpe brothers were in guard uniforms. Anton was in a suit.

"You actually didn't mess that up," Anton said, condescending. "Amazing."

Cassel's face turned red and he opened his mouth to retort, but Barron broke in, "We should get moving. We are on a schedule here."

"Yes," Philip agreed. "We don't have time for this squabbling."

"You're not in charge here, Sharpe," Anton growled, and Philip was once again left wondering why he'd bothered putting up with Anton all these years. His life would have considerably less condescension if he'd simply found a way to separate himself from Anton when they'd been ten.

"We should get moving," Anton went on like Philip and Barron hadn't just suggested that. "Turner won't be here all night."

Abraham Turner was a physicality worker who had recently tried to get out of his contract with the Zacharovs by appealing to the government for a full pardon in return for all the information he had on the Zacharovs. Tonight, was the night that Turner was supposed to meet with several members of the Licensed Minority Division to hand over the information. Obviously, that meeting couldn't be allowed to happen so Philip, Barron, Cassel and Anton had been sent to make sure Turner wouldn't be talking to anyone.

Cassel normally wouldn't be helping on a job like this. Because he wasn't a worker he couldn't be a part of Zacharov's gang in all real capacity, but Philip and Barron sometimes let him help on smaller jobs. The trick had always been keeping Zacharov's daughter, Lila, from finding out, especially as it became increasingly difficult to convince Cassel not to tell her about it.

Still, Cassel was here tonight with Zacharov's blessing. Because Turner had been a longtime member of the gang, he knew the faces of just about any agent who could be sent after him. That was where Cassel came in handy. Since Cassel wasn't a worker and not a member, no one besides Anton, Lila, Zacharov and a few others had ever seen him. Most people weren't even aware that Mom had three sons. Cassel's face was unknown to Turner, but he was still close enough to the Zacharov family that his loyalty was ensured. He was the perfect person to lead Turner into the trap Anton was setting for him.

They walked quickly but not too quickly through the halls of the convention center. The LMD had set Turner up with a ticket to the evening gala being held here tonight. The Sharpe brothers and Anton didn't have tickets at all, but the guard's ID and security cards quickly got them through locked doors and into the part of the building where the gala was being held. They marched through the halls until they reached a small conference room without any observation windows that they'd picked as the perfect place for the job.

"Get on your part of the mission," Anton told Cassel. "And if you mess up; I'll have your hide."

Cassel rolled his eyes. "Don't worry," he said. "It'll be fine."

He walked away leaving Anton visibly fuming at the implication that he was worried. Barron snorted, and Anton whirled on him. "What are you laughing at?"

Barron held up his hands. "Nothing. Just clearing my throat."

Anton looked like he wanted to strange Barron, but Philip stepped in. "Let's get inside before someone starts wondering why we're just standing out here," he suggested.

Anton nodded sharply and pushed his way into the conference room. Philip and Barron followed. The room was had boring beige walls decorated with pristine whiteboards on three walls. A potted plant that came up to Philip's shoulders stood next to the door and a modern table filled the room surrounded by chairs. Anton strode across the room and settled himself into the chair at the head of the table. He arranged himself in the chair in a way so much like a villain in a movie that it was somewhere between funny and pathetic. "Barron, stand in that corner," he motioned to his left. "Philip, over there," another gesture to the right corner.

It was infuriating to be bossed around by Anton like Philip and Barron were just hired muscle with no brains of their own, but there wasn't a whole lot that could be done about it. Philip took his place in the corner and glanced across the room at Barron who rolled his eyes with a small smile on his face, all in all looking considerably more good-natured about the whole situation.

They waited for almost ten minutes for Cassel to return with Turner. Anton drummed his fingers on the tabletop, Philip fought to keep his foot from tapping. "That kid's going to blow it," Anton announced.

"He'll be fine," Barron soothed. "Just give him a few more minutes before you start panicking."

Before Anton could get angry the doorknob rattled and they had half a second to pull themselves together before the door opened and Cassel ushered Turner inside.

Turner took two steps into the room before he caught sight of Anton. He jumped and turned towards the door to escape, but Cassel had already entered the room and closed the door. He stood against it with his hand on the handle, staring impassively at Turner.

"You-" Turner spat. "You-You-" he didn't have time to come up with something to something to say because Anton cleared his throat.

"Well, Turner, it appears this is the end of the line," Anton said. "You really should have realized the LMD couldn't protect you from us."

"I'm-" Turner stammered, Philip could see him struggling to find an out. "This is all for a job. I'm going to infiltrate the LMD and-"

Anton held up a hand. "Please," he said. "Save your breath. No one's going to believe that."

Turner began to say something, but Anton spoke over him, "I really don't feel like drawing this out. Abraham Turner, you're found guilty of treason to the Zacharov family, your execution will happen immediately. Philip."

Philip took a quiet breath and stepped forward. Turner's eyes went wide. He tried to back away, but almost instantly Barron and Cassel where on either side of him holding his arms, careful not to touch any skin. Turner writhed trying to escape, but they held his fast as Philip crossed the room. He moved slowly; part of the punishment was in the waiting.

"Please…" Turner begged, a quiet, pathetic whimper from a man who had once been a worker for Zacharov.

Philip didn't even bother responding. He wrapped his fingers around Turner's neck, pressing down until their skin came into contact through the slits of his gloves. He didn't wait to act; Turner could work Philip right now too, skin on skin contact didn't only run one way. Philip reached out with his power; it only took a second to overload and burn out Turner's nervous system until it couldn't possibly recover. Turner slumped in Barron and Cassel's arms. Dead.

Philip took a step backward, and Barron and Cassel let Turner's body collapse to the floor. Anton rose to his feet and crossed the room. The four of them stood over Turner's body looking down. "Are you sure he's dead?" Anton asked.

"No one can survive their entire nervous system getting burnt out," Philip said.

"Then we should get out of here," Anton said heading towards the door. "We'll leave the body here to send a message to the-" He trailed off because he'd opened the door and an unfamiliar man in a suit was standing outside.

Anton's mouth dropped open. He started to step back and began raising his hands, but the newcomer produced a nightstick and swung before Anton had a chance to defend himself. He dropped like a stone, either unconscious or close enough.

The suited man nudged Anton's body with his foot and looked up. "Well, I assume this is Anton Zacharov," he said. "And you two are Philip and Barron Sharpe," he eyes focused on Cassel. "But who are you?"

Cassel didn't respond, he just lunged at the man fists clenched. His attack got nowhere, because the suited man was much bigger than he was. Within seconds the man had Cassel in a headlock.

"Alright, enough of that," the man said. "This will go so much more smoothly if you all just hand yourselves in."

"You're the LMD agent Turner was supposed to meet," Philip said.

"Correct," the agent said. "I've been keeping an eye on him since he arrived, and I couldn't just let someone walk off with him without following."

"Sorry," Cassel croaked. The bare skin of the agent's wrist was digging into Cassel's bare throat and cutting off his air supply.

"It's a pity you already managed to finish him off," the agent continued, ignoring Cassel. "He had information that would be valuable to the LMD."

"People don't betray the Zacharov family and get away with it," Philip replied. His eyes kept darting to the doorway behind the agent. That was the only way out of the conference room. They had to get past him.

The agent must have noticed his frantic planning because he smiled. "There's no way out. The four of you will pay for your c-" his voice broke out into a panicked shriek.

Philip followed the man's gaze and gasped. Where the agent's bare skin had been touching Cassel, his wrist had turned into melted wax. Cassel pulled away and darted towards Philip and Barron. The agent dropped to the ground screaming and cradling the melty stump of his left arm.

There was only one type of worker who could what had just happened, but transformation workers were so rare they practically didn't exist. Besides, Cassel wasn't a worker at all, how had he…

Cassel looked up at Philip, a look a petrified shock on his face. He looked almost as scared as the agent did. Philip and Cassel stared at each other for one moment that lasted an eternity then Cassel's face contorted and he dropped to the ground with a shriek, fingers digging to his scalp.

"Cassel?" Philip dropped down next to him. "Cassel, what's wrong?"

Barron knelt as well, "Must be the blowback."

"Are you sure?" Philip looked at him.

"Do I look like an expert on transformation workers to you?" Barron snapped.

They both looked back to the writhing form of their baby brother on the ground. A transformation worker. Philip tried to wrap his mind around the knowledge. Cassel couldn't be a transformation worker. He was too old to develop powers. They would have known. Philip felt a little like he was going to pass out.

Cassel twisted on the ground and let out a horrible, animal-sounding moan. Barron jabbed Philip with his elbow. "Philip, do something."

Philip shook himself and touched Cassel's neck, feeling his brother's skin through the slits in his gloves. He pulsed Cassel's nervous system the same way he had to the guard he'd taken down in the hall and his little brother went still.

Philip sat back on his heels, ignoring the needle-like pains that were starting to the shoot through his bones—the beginning of his own blowback. It wasn't bad now—sort of like growing pains, maybe—but he knew it would get worse, especially if he had to do more working today. "We need to get out of here," he said.

"My thoughts exactly," Barron said. "I'll carry Cassel, you take this." He took off the backpack and handed it over. "We might need you to have your hands free to work someone else."

Philip pulled the backpack on and stood up. Barron maneuvered Cassel over his shoulders and stood as well. "Let's move," he said.

They stepped of the agent's moaning body and out into the hallway. There were footsteps coming towards them. Philip turned his head to see a squad of security guards heading towards them. "What happened?" the lead guard asked. "We heard screaming."

Philip took a steadying breath and sized the men up. There were a lot of them, but they didn't appear armed with anything but nightsticks and tasers. No lethal weapons, which put them at a distinct disadvantage to Philip who had carried a lethal weapon inside of himself since the day he was born.

"A couple meetings didn't go as planned," he said in a careful voice. He probably didn't sound as calm as Cassel could have in this situation, but it would have to be enough. As he spoke, he slowly, carefully peeled off his gloves; he'd need more than a couple slits of bare skin for this. "I think it's mostly taken care of now."

"We heard screaming," the lead guard said. "Is someone hurt?"

"Nothing life threatening," Philip finished pulling off the gloves and moved to put them in his pants pocket. "You don't need to worry."

The sudden bending of Philip's arm caught the guard's attention. He looked down to see Philip's bare hands and his eyes widened. He looked back up. "Please put the gloves back on, sir," he said shakily. "There's other ways to solve this." The rest of the guards began drawing their tasers and nightsticks.

Philip glanced at Barron who was standing just off his right shoulder. "Stay right behind me," he ordered in an undertone. "Don't fall behind."

Barron nodded.

"Put the gloves back on and get on your knees!" the lead guard ordered leveling his taser at them.

Philip gave his best "I'm an evil worker" grin and charged across the space between him and the guards. He brushed his fingers along the lead guard's neck and dropped him with a surge of bone melting pain. Two more guards were behind, and Philip took them down as well. He plowed through their midst, hands outstretched, fingers reaching for skin. He didn't try to kill; that would take too much focus. He just needed to slow them down.

He burst through the guards with Barron hot on his heels. They pounded down the hall and skidded around a corner. They retraced their steps to the quieter parts of the building with the poorly placed security cameras. Once there they tried to stay to the blind spots as much as possible. Philip wasn't sure how long they had before even more security was sent after them. They needed to vanish before that could happen.

They skidded around a corner into a long hallway. Philip clung to the wall under the security cameras until they were halfway down the hall. Then he slid to a stop and bent down next to a specific floor tile. The tiles were a little wider than Philip's shoulders and this one had a little ridge in it to make it easier to lift. It still took Philip several precious seconds to pry it up because his hands were shaking with a mixture of fear and adrenalin. He finally got it up to reveal and access hatch underneath. This hatch swung downwards to reveal a dimly lit passage; one of the building's many maintenance hallways.

"You first," he told Barron.

Barron nodded and set Cassel on the floor. He climbed partway down the ladder attached to the hatch, then grabbed Cassel again and dragged him down as well.

Philip looked back. He could hear sounds of pursuit now. They only had seconds to finish vanishing. He scrambled partway down the ladder and dragged the tile back over the hole, blocking out the light from above and leaving only the dull orange light of the maintenance hallway. He closed the hatch and dropped down the rest of the way to the floor.

The maintenance hallway stretched on in either direction. This was the way they'd gotten into the building. "Let's move," Philip panted to Barron.

Barron nodded and took off down the hall. Philip moved to follow, but he only got two steps before the blowback that had been threatening since he'd knocked out Cassel hit with full force. Philip's bones turned to fire, his muscled went limp. He sagged against the wall gasping in airless breaths through clenched teeth. _You don't have time for this! Get up!_

"Philip?" he heard Barron's voice as if from very far away. "Philip, we need to go."

"Go ahead without me," Philip said around a thick tongue and numb lips. "I'll catch up."

"No way," a hand grabbed his elbow and dragged him upright. "Come on, Phil. You can do it. Let's go."

Philip didn't remember much of the rest of the escape, only that Barron's white-knuckle grip on his arm was the only thing keeping him upright and moving. He didn't remember transferring from the maintained hallways to the sewer system. He didn't remember trekking through the sewer for blocks and then climbing out into the parking garage where the car they'd driven here was parked. He didn't come back to himself until Barron practically poured him into the passenger seat of the car.

Philip leaned against the seat painting from pain and the nausea that came with it. He heard other doors opening and closing as Barron dumped Cassel's limp body onto the back seat and got behind the wheel.

"Pull your feet in and close your door," Barron ordered as the car hummed to life. "We need to get out of here."

Philip hadn't even realized that his legs were still hanging out of the car. He pulled them in and managed to close the door even though his arms felt like overheated lead. Something was digging into his back and he realized that it was the backpack. He worked the straps off and let it fall to the floor by his feet. He squinted blurrily up at his brother as Barron leaned over and began undoing the buttons on Philip's guard uniform shirt. "Don't want to draw attention to us," Philip muttered. "We don't want them to make the connection between this car and us."

"I know," Barron said. He worked Philip's arms out of the shirt and tossed it onto the floor in the back. Philip was wearing a normal tee-shirt under it for precisely this eventuality. He realized that Barron had already removed his shirt and a quick glance back confirmed that he'd done the same for Cassel.

Barron buckled Philip in and patted his shoulder. "We'll be fine, Phil."

Philip didn't quite believe him. After all, they had just attacked a member of the LMD and a bunch of security guards. Plus, Anton…

Philip's aching, struggling heart nearly stopped when he realized what they'd overlooked. The mistake they'd made that would make any trouble they'd have from the police look like a picnic. A mistake that might spell their bloody, painful deaths.

"Barron," he breathed. "We left Anton."

* * *

The highway stretched on before them. Barron tried to keep his hands steady on the wheel and his mind focused. There were not words to describe how badly this job had gone, and that was even without thinking about Cassel…

Philip shifted in the passenger seat. "Barron," he grunted. "Pull over. I'm going to be sick."

Barron glanced over. Philip had the back of one hand pressed to his mouth. He'd actually managed to turn green, which Barron hadn't known was possible. "One second," Barron pulled over on the side of the highway probably a bit more dangerously than he should have and slammed on the brakes.

Philip swung the passenger door open and leaned out, puking into the gravel. Barron winced and looked away trying to give his brother some privacy. Philip's blowbacks normally made him nauseous, so it wasn't like Barron wasn't used to waiting for his older brother to get ahold of the contents of his stomach, but it was still awkward.

Philip continued emptying his stomach for what seemed like forever. Finally, he wiped his mouth on the back of a hand and leaned back into his seat with an audible moan. His face was completely bloodless and soaked with sweat that plastered his hair to his forehead. The hand that he brought up to pinch the bridge of his nose was shaking, his other arm was wrapped tightly around his stomach.

"Phil?" Barron ventured.

"I feel horrible," Philip said, his voice rough and acidy from vomiting. "This might be the worst blowback I've ever had."

Barron's stomach sank. Philip's blowbacks gave him the symptoms of a bad flu mixed with chronic pain and could last anywhere from a couple hours to days. While Barron knew he shouldn't exactly be surprised that this blowback was bad—he had never seen a physicality worker work their way through as many people at once as Philip had with those guards—they were going to have to deal with the fallout of all this, and it was looking like Barron would be the only one capable of doing so.

Barron dug around on the floor of the backseat and found a half empty water bottle. "Here," he said offering it to Philip. "Rinse out your mouth."

He waited while Philip swished the water around in his mouth and spat it onto the gravel outside. When he pulled back into the car and closed the door, Barron asked, "Are you okay to keep going?"

Philip sunk lower in his seat and his eyes closed. "Yeah," he said hoarsely.

"Okay," Barron turned off the hazards and put the car back into drive. "If you need to throw up again let me know."

He drove for twenty or thirty minutes before he saw signs for a rest stop. He turned onto the ramp and slowed down. Philip—who Barron had hoped had dozed off—shifted and opened his eyes, squinting at the gas pumps and convenience store. "Why are we stopping?" he asked.

"We need some supplies," Barron said. "We'll get some Z-Up for your stomach and some Advil."

Philip smiled vaguely. "Yeah," he mumbled. "That sounds good."

Barron pulled up into a parking spot a little way from everyone else and turned off the car. "I'll go in," he said. "You can wait here."

"No, I'll come in," Philip said swallowing heavily. "I need to use the bathroom. Besides we need to decide what to do about-" he jerked his head at Cassel's still, unconscious form in the backseat.

Barron looked back at his little brother. "How long is he going to be out?" he asked.

"Maybe another hour or so," Philip said. "We'll need to have a plan of action when he wakes up."

Barron nodded. "I suppose you're right."

Before they left the car, they had to change pants and shoes because they couldn't just walk into a convenience store in the pants and shoes of a security guard when their descriptions were probably going to be all over the news in the next couple hours. After changing into jeans and tennis shoes they got out of the car and headed into the convenience store. Barron gathered up Z-Up, Gatorade, granola bars, sandwiches, water and Advil while Philip used the bathroom. Barron had just finished paying (in cash, obviously) when Philip staggered back paler and shakier than before.

"You okay, bro?" Barron asked, and Philip gave him a look that told him to drop it.

They stepped outside and commandeered a picnic table within sight of the car. Barron sat on the tabletop facing the car with his boots on the table's bench seat. Philip also faced the car, only he sat on the seat and draped his upper body across the tabletop.

They sat in silence for several minutes then Philip spoke, his voice muffled by the cocoon of his arms, "So, Cassel's a transformation worker."

"Yeah," Barron said tightly.

"I didn't know that," Philip said. "He must have used his powers before now; why don't I remember it?" He lifted his head and gave Barron a look that didn't make sense for a couple seconds before he made the connection.

"Oh," he said. "I didn't work you."

Officially, Barron was a luck worker; only Philip, Grandad and Mom knew that he was actually a memory worker. If Barron had told the Zacharovs he could have gotten more work than just being the insurance to Philip's jobs, but the blowback made that a bad idea. Every time Barron used his powers he was trading away some of his own memories. If he wasn't careful, he would work himself into premature Alzheimer's.

"Are you sure you didn't and then forgot?" Philip asked.

"Yes," Barron said. "That's something I would have written down in my journals."

Philip accepted that with a nod. "Still," he said. "He's seventeen. This can't be the first time he's displayed powers. It would have started when he was younger, which means…"

"Someone did work us to make us forgot," Barron finished. "All three of us."

"You're sure he didn't know?" Philip asked.

"You saw his face," Barron replied. "He didn't have a clue."

There was a long pause. "Do you think the Zacharovs knew?" Barron asked, cursing the unsteadiness in his tone.

"No," Philip said. "If they knew Cassel's a worker this powerful, we'd never have had to work so hard to convince Anton he wasn't a deadweight. Mom and Grandad on the other hand…"

Barron's stomach clenched. "They can't know. They would have told us."

"They must know," Philip used his elbows to lever his body into a mostly upright position. "Someone decided we'd be best off not knowing and had us worked; probably multiple times. They're the only options; they're the only ones close enough to us."

"But why?" Barron asked.

"I don't know," Philip said, then looked up at Barron, face serious. "But until we understand it, we can't trust them."

"We can't go home either," Barron said. "Even if we could trust Mom and Grandad either the LMD or the Zacharovs are going to be after us. We're going to need to go under the radar. Especially if we're going to protect Cassel," he paused and realized the assumption he'd made. "We are going to protect Cassel, right?"

"Of course, we are," Philip said in a tone of voice that suggested that he couldn't believe Barron had asked. "He's our baby brother, just because he's suddenly one of the rarest workers in the world doesn't change anything."

"Good," Barron heaved a sigh of relief. "Then we probably should get moving. We need to put as much distance between us and that conference center as possible before the police have time to really mobilize against us. Even more once Anton inevitably gets bailed out of prison."

"Yeah," Philip agreed and began to try to heave himself to his feet. "Might be a good idea to make sure Cassel doesn't have the option to run before hearing us out when he wakes up too."

Barron ended up needing to help Philip to the car, but they were still back on the highway within minutes. Philip shifted in the seat then leaned forward to rummage through the pockets of the backpack. "What are you looking for?" Barron asked.

"We have a burner phone in here, don't we?"

"Yes," Barron said. "Why do you need it?"

"I'm going to call Maura and tell her to get out," he said. "The house is under her name, so someone's bound to show up there eventually."

"Should we call Grandad?" Barron asked.

"You can if you want," Philip said. "I'm not."

Barron knew he wouldn't either. If they involved Grandad in this, it would be too difficult to keep their new knowledge about Cassel secret. "I'm not calling him either," Barron said.

Philip straightened up and nodded in something that was either approval or simple acknowledgment. He was holding one of the cheap, prepaid burner flip phones they'd bought for the job. Barron watched out of the corner of his eye as Philip dialed Maura's number from memory and raised the phone to his ear.

"Maura?" he asked after a minute. "Are you alone?"

There was a pause as Maura answered, then Philip went on, "The job went bad. Catastrophically bad. You need to leave. Chances are either the police or the Zacharovs will be showing up at the house in the next couple hours and I don't think it's a good idea if you're there when that happens."

Another pause. "I'm fine, just a bad blowback. Barron and Cassel are fine too, but we let Anton get arrested which is why the Zacharovs might be after us soon."

Pause. "I don't think Zacharov will have much trouble there," Philip answered. "Regardless of what the politicians say about cracking down on the crime families, there isn't a prison in the country that will hold Anton Zacharov for more than a couple days. So, it's not like this is much of a setback for Zacharov; it's more that we left Anton to get arrested in favor of saving our nonworker little brother."

Maura responded, then Philip said, "That's why you need to get all the essentials into the car and get out of the state. Remember to change the plates before you leave and whatever you do don't tell Grandad or Mom that you're leaving."

Philip listened to Maura's question, then said, "I can't explain over the phone. I'll tell you when we meet in person. Speaking of which, there's a burner phone in my sock drawer; take it with you, and I'll call you on it in a couple days so we can find a place to meet."

Maura spoke some more. "We're all fine," Philip said. "No sign of pursuit thus far, but we aren't going to take any chances. I'll talk to you in a couple days?" A pause. "I love you too. Stay safe. Goodbye."

Philip hung up and leaned back in the seat. Barron looked over at his brother's pale, sweaty face, lax mouth and drooping eyes. "There's Z-Up and Advil," he said. "Then you should try to sleep."

"Yeah," Philip agreed tiredly. "That's probably a good idea."

* * *

They drove and drove and drove. Barron kept his hands clenched tightly on the steering wheel, his eyes glued on the road, ears tuned to the radio which was playing news, listening for every mention of the incident. So far, their names and descriptions had not been released, but it was only a matter of time. Barron considered where they could go that would be safe and what they would need to do to foil the police descriptions of them. They couldn't go anywhere Mom and Grandad knew about or anywhere Zacharov, Anton or even Lila knew about. It had to be somewhere entirely knew, and Barron was grasping at straws.

In the passenger seat, Philip slipped in and out of fitful sleep. He shifted restlessly and grunted whenever he was jarred by a bump in the road. Barron wanted desperately to get them a hotel room so Philip could rest in an actual bed, but doing that would be like asking to be found and arrested. Since they'd abandoned Anton, Zacharov wouldn't bail them out and the Sharpe family didn't have the money or connections. They needed to stay free or everything was over.

The sun was beginning to rise when Cassel finally stirred in the backseat. Barron's stomach twisted into knots as he listened to his little brother work his way back to consciousness.

"Wha' happen'?" Cassel muttered thickly. "Wh' 're we…" Barron gritted his teeth and waited for the explosion.

He didn't have to wait long. Cassel jerked upright in the backseat. "Wait! I-I-" He sat up straight and Barron saw his angry glare in the rearview mirror. "You lied to me!"

"Cassel?" Philip shifted awake and turned to look at their little brother. "Good, you're awake."

"You're a liar!" Cassel snarled. "You're both liars! You told me I didn't have any powers, but I do! What happened to that agent; I did that!"

"We didn't lie to you," Philip said, his voice steady but with an undercurrent of strain, either from stress or from the blowback. "We didn't know. We thought you weren't a worker too. We would never keep something like that from you."

"I don't believe you," Cassel snapped.

"I'm not lying," Philip said. "I didn't know you were a worker. I swear it on my life."

"I swear it too," Barron said. "We're on your side, Cassel."

"If you two didn't know anything," Cassel said. "Why is this the first time it's ever happened? That's not how working works."

"We might have all been worked by a memory worker," Barron said. A quick glance at Philip confirmed that they were going to keep Barron's true identity as a memory worker quiet for the time being. "Someone must have decided that we were better off not knowing you were a worker."

There was a pause while Cassel thought that over. "Mom and Grandad," he said.

The kid was even quicker to that assumption than they had been, Barron wasn't sure whether to be impressed or worried. "We're not sure," he said. "But it's a definite possibility."

He watched in the rearview mirror as Cassel thought it all over. "I'll trust you two for now," Cassel finally said, "but if I discover even one little thing that could imply you're lying to me, well…" he lifted a hand and his eyes narrowed. "I'm know that I'm not defenseless now."

"A logical strategy," Philip agreed.

They lapsed back into silence, the radio droning commercials in the background, until Cassel spoke again, "Where are we?"

"On the fast track to the middle of nowhere," Barron said. "Things only went farther south after Philip knocked you out. We ended up attacking a number of security guards and then running to evade arrest. We're kind of hot news right now, and we'll need to go underground until this all blows over."

"Okay…" Cassel said slowly, thinking it over. "Where's Anton?"

"Arrested," Philip said. "We…may have panicked and forgotten about him."

Cassel snorted. "Bet he's happy about that."

"It's going to be a real problem," Philip said. "He won't be happy when he gets out, and the whole Zacharov family will be after us." He finished by shifting in his seat and moaning out loud.

Barron freed one hand from the steering wheel and patted Philip's shoulder. "You've got about forty-five minutes before you can take more Advil," he said. "Just hang in there."

"What's wrong with him?" Cassel asked, sounding just a little scared.

"Blowback," Philip grunted. "I'll be fine."

Cassel frowned, deep in thought. "We're in deep trouble," he said, then his voice became quiet and a little scared. "What happens if the Zacharovs figure out I'm a worker? What happens if the people who worked our memories figure out we know?"

Barron and Philip looked at each other, each trying to come up with something soothing and reassuring to say. In truth, neither of them knew what would happen in either of those situations. "Nothing bad will happen to you," Philip finally promised, perhaps a bit rashly.

"We're your brothers," Barron agreed anyway. "It's our job to keep you safe."

* * *

 **That's probably not the best ending in the world, but I'm running on four hours of sleep, so you'll have to forgive my lack of creative brain cells. I suppose this could be the start of a bigger story, but I'm nearly 100% positive I'm not going to continue, so I suggest you don't hold your breath.**

 **I'm almost done with part three of the Angsty Kaz Fanfiction** **TM** **, so hopefully you'll get that soon. I have a couple other ideas too, so we'll see what happens. The one thing I will say is that I'm sort of in the process of shifting fandoms, so expect a lot of variety, but probably not a lot of Star Wars.**

 **Anyway, if you've read this, thank you! I'm honestly not sure if anyone will see this.**

 **Please favorite, follow and review!**

 **Emjen**


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